


Stuck in a Loop

by ERS



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 00:44:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ERS/pseuds/ERS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years after Justin left for New York, he finds that not just his own life has moved on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck in a Loop

“I'm so excited,” Justin said for the umteenth time, “I can't believe that we managed to get that invitation to the private showing of Jon Galloway's paintings.”  
“And here we are in London,” Rufus continued his sentence good-naturedly, “and we will meet the great man in person tonight.”  
“You're not making fun of me, are you Rufus?” Justin chided.  
“Perish the thought,” Rufus smiled, and walked over to the window of their hotel suite to watch the London traffic ease by.

Rufus and Justin had met four years ago, it had been at a dinner for gay entrepreneurs and artists. They had been seated next to one another at the dining table, and neither of them knew many of the other people present. They had started talking, found one another compatible and ended up in Justin'sapartment in bed. It wasn't an all-consuming passion between them, but they gave one another what they craved: companionship, intellectual stimulation and good sex. They had a mature, very grown-up relationship, something that they were both proud of. They never argued, they had similar outlooks on life, similar politics, they were both artists and could discuss their work and understand one another. If there were occasional one-night-stands on the side they never talked about them, and they were both adult enough about sex to understand that these things had no bearing on the stable relationship they had built with one another. 

Early on they had told one another about their respective pasts; Justin knew all about Rufus' misguided foray into heterosexual territory before he realised, or dared to realise, that he was gay, and Rufus in turn knew all about Justin's traumatic bashing. He also knew about Justin's ex-boyfriend, Brian Kinney, the name indelibly stamped on Justin's past, however much he might protest to the contrary. Justin had told him that his relationship with Brian had been immature, a schoolboy crush, that Brian had been incapable of growing up and incapable of fidelity, an aging Peter Pan, with the club scene as his Never-never Land. Pathetic really. 

Justin had all but blotted out that part of his life, he wouldn't say why. There were no photos of him and the elusive ex, although they had been together for five years, and none of the sketches or paintings Justin had done of the man had survived the break-up. Apparently Justin had left the ex-boyfriend when he moved to New York and had never seen him since. Rufus didn't really care but Justin would speak of his past life in Pittsburgh with such bitterness that he sometimes wondered what exactly had happened. It didn't really matter. They had their lives and their art, Justin still had aspirations to become a great artist but Rufus was quite content to be a book illustrator, and Justin was very successful as a graphic designer. Rufus knew that Justin was disappointed in himself for not having fulfilled his early promise, but it was a subject they skirted around and Rufus was fearful of touching a raw nerve. The least he could do was to accompany Justin to London to see the exhibition of the works by one of Justin's favourite contemporary artists, Jon Galloway, a gay icon and star of the art scene. 

Justin dressed carefully for the exhibition, trying not to be too formal or too casual. He was twenty-seven and had lost the first glow of youth, he tried to keep physically fit but he was short, with a thicker lower body and thin arms. He was well aware that what had been adorable at seventeen was no longer quite so charming at twenty-seven. He was not the kind of classical beauty who would age well, he thought, banishing the man who immediately came to his mind right out of his thoughts. Well, he would be all of forty years old now, Justin thought spitefully, at least he would always be younger.

He looked over at Rufus, dependable, kind and understanding Rufus, with whom sex was always satisfactory, who was always sensible and who never succumbed to mood swings or temper tantrums, and Justin was glad. He had what he had always wanted, a dependable, mature and intelligent relationship with a sensitive and compatible partner who did not turn into a screaming banshee at the drop of a hat. Brian probably still went clubbing every weekend, it was sad, really. A forty-year-old who was unable to let go of his youth. At least Justin wasn't still stuck in that loop.

The Fortuna Gallery was a beautiful Georgian building in Mayfair. Justin and Rufus had taken a taxi and when they arrived, there was a crush of cars and cabs outside the entrance, and a bevy of journalists and photographers. Jon Galloway was not just a celebrated artist, he was also something of a minor celebrity, a man who had been openly gay for decades and whose pictures were testament to that lifestyle. Apart from paintings he had also done a series of candid photo shoots of men from a gay perspective which had caused quite a stir. People debated whether the pictures of crotches, bare chests and and open lips were sexist in the same way that similar pictures of women might be; Galloway had asserted that it was precisely that kind of discussion about the nature of sexism that he had wanted to provoke. Conservative elements were suitably shocked, women charmed and gay men enjoyed the voyeurism. The press had their scandal and had followed Galloway ever since. 

Galloway's private life was something of a mystery to the intense disappointment of the tabloid newspapers in London, for years he apparently had shunned relationships, but there had been rumours that he had a clandestine relationship with another man going back a few years; even so he had managed to keep his private life a secret thus far. But the press were hoping that the paintings on display might give a hint, they were supposedly his most intimate and personal works to date. Justin and Rufus edged past the jostling photographers and made their way to the entrance, where the invitations were duly inspected and they were allowed to pass. 

The beautiful Georgian mansion housing the paintings was impressive on its own. Looking at the elegantly dressed men and women around him, Justin felt an inexplicable heaviness in his breast. He had longed to belong to these people, he had wanted to be the bright new talent with an exhibtion if his own, instead he was doing hack work. He reminded himself that Galloway was in his late forties, that he still had plenty of time to achieve his goals, but as he entered the first room and got a glimpse of the work there, he knew that he would never be that exceptional artist. He was just a boy who could sketch, a young man who touchingly overcame his disabilities to become an artist. Galloway had won the Turner Prize by the time he was twenty-seven.

Rufus could sense something was wrong. He knew and loved Justin well enough to be able to gauge his mood. Justin was never satisfied, that was the problem. There was always something more, something greater to become. In Pittsburgh he was unusually talented, a youth showing great promise. In New York he was just one of very many young artists who hoped to make it some day, some of them, it had to be admitted, more talented than Justin. Rufus had learned to accept that of himself. Unless you were Jon Galloway, there was always someone better than you. At twenty-nine he was two years older than Justin but, as a native of New York, more realistic and philosophical about his talent. He illustrated books and he enjoyed his work. The nature of the product meant that thousands of people saw his work, and he loved that aspect. He suspected that Justin secretly despised his lack of ambition, but Rufus was happy with his life. They earned enough money between them to rent a very nice apartment with a studio that they shared, they had a large group of friends, all similarly situated and in artistic or creative fields of work, they were an openly gay couple in New York, one of the most tolerant and exciting cities in the world and they had a good sex life. But he could feel that Justin craved something more, which is why they were here in London now, standing in front of Galloway's paintings, the quality of which only seemed to depress Justin more.  
“He's very good,” Justin said in a despairing tone of voice, “but then I already knew that. Let's get some champagne. I hope we can meet Galloway himself, I suppose he's not here yet.” At least there were some good-looking men to appreciate, Rufus thought to himself, Justin had noticed that too despite his dejection. Unfortunately most of them seemed to be uninterested and rather haughty, a raised eyebrow was the only thing that Rufus got in answer to a questioning look. Rufus was well aware that he was only slightly more than average looking, he wasn't tall or well-built, he was slender, with dark curls and eyes that Justin had told him were expressive. In the gay world where looks were so important, youth could excuse many flaws. When you got older you were expected to age perfectly or you were just not attractive. Rufus didn't care, he was mature enough to be happy with who he was. 

There was a commotion in the hallway and shouts could be heard from outside; apparently Jon Galloway was on his way into the building, no doubt being waylaid by the press. People thronged from the rooms out into the hallway to see him come in, Justin and Rufus held back. It would be easier to talk to him after the first excitement of his arrival had died down. They took advantage of the fact that the rooms were now emptier and looked at the pictures, slowly meandering through the beautifully lit building, sipping champagne. Life was great, Rufus though, not perfect, but perfect enough. If only Justin could feel that way too, but Justin always seemed to feel that there was something missing, and perhaps there always would be. 

People began to ease back into the room, they had seen the great man and now he was making his rounds. He could feel Justin's excitement, Rufus knew that he was hoping that Galloway had perhaps heard of him, had seen his paintings, would in some way acknowledge him. Rufus hoped so, too. He wanted Justin to be happy. They milled around, waiting. Looking at the crowd, some of the faces familiar from other exhibitions, some unfamiliar, Rufus felt loney. They knew people in the New York art scene; the London one was new to them. When Galloway entered the room, the excitement was palpable. People went up to him to congratulate him, Justin and Rufus followed. Galloway was very good-looking, despite being in his late forties he was a tall, athletic picture of a man, his black hair shot through with occasional white that gave him an air of distinction. He was Justin's type, and Justin's body language betrayed that. Justin had a thing for tall, dark and handsome men, just like the cliché. It sometimes made Rufus wonder about the dreaded ex that Justin did not talk about. Had he been like that? Justin had once mentioned that the man had been extremely vain, and he had also said that he would have surely lost his looks by now due to his wild lifestyle of clubbing into the night, drugs and booze. All this had led Rufus to assume that the ex must at some point have been handsome. 

Justin was sidling closer to Galloway, deploying the wide smile he had told Rufus had once garnered him the nickname Sunshine. Rufus didn't really like nicknames, he occasionally called Justin Jus, but that was the end of it. Justin did have a nice smile, Rufus thought, but it looked a little forced on this occasion. Justin was nervous and so was Rufus. He was afraid that Justin would be disappointed, that Galloway would shake his hand vaguely and nod and then pass on, as he had done before that night at least a hundred times. Justin fervently wished that his idol would acknowledge him, would know his name and his work; Rufus hoped the same just as fervently but he had his doubts.

At last they were in front of the great man himself, Justin smiled brightly, mustering all his charm, and held out his hand. Galloway's eyes brushed him vaguely and he took the proferred hand, looking searchingly into the middle distance as he had been doing most of the time he was greeting his guests. It was if he were looking for something, or waiting for something to happen.   
“I'm Justin Taylor, I am a great admirer of yours...” Galloway's eyes snapped back, Rufus could almost see him think. Unbelievably, the name struck a chord with Galloway.  
“Justin Taylor?” he queried, “why what a wonderful surprise. I have wanted to meet you for such a long time. I have heard so much about you.” Galloway pumped Justin's hand and sincere smile lit up his handsome face. “We must have dinner,” Galloway continued, then he turned to Rufus.   
“This is my partner,” Justin introduced him, “Rufus Wilder.” Galloway turned the smile on Rufus and shook his hand.  
“Ah Mr Wilder,” he enthused, “the book illustrator? My partner's son loves the illustrations in the Doomed Earth book series, he must have reread them at least ten times, they owe much of their appeal to your artwork, Mr. Wilder.” Rufus saw Justin's jaw drop, he was inordinately pleased that Galloway had heard of him but much more so because he had greeted Justin so effusively. Justin's cheeks were flushed with pleasure. “Please,” Galloway was saying, “don't go away. Stay right here. I shall be back in a few minutes. This will be wonderful.” Galloway almost sprinted out of the room, after giving them a cautioning glance over his shoulder.

“What was that all about?” Rufus hissed at Justin, “is that his artistic temperament speaking or what?”   
“I don't know,” Justin whispered, “I never expected – this. Perhaps he's not coming back.” Rufus laughed.   
“Perhaps he's mad.” But Galloway reappeared several minutes later, and he was not alone. He had a hand around the wrist of one of the most handsome men Rufus had ever seen, towing him behind him. The man was even taller than Galloway but slim, with endlessly long legs and the build of a runner, sleek and elegant. He had thick, chestnut hair without a hint of grey and might have been in his mid thirties, it was hard to tell. He was the type of man who would always be young, and always be beautiful. He had to be the partner Galloway had spoken of.  
“For Heaven's sake, Jonathan,” he was saying in a soft, gentle voice, the voice of a seducer, “why won't you tell me why you are dragging me around?” With a shock Rufus realised that the man was an American. For some reason he had assumed that he would be English, like Galloway. Then the man stared. He stopped in his tracks, bringing Galloway to an abrupt halt with him. His eyes were fixed on Justin, who for some reason was staring back as if petrified. Galloway's companion had large, hazel eyes, flecked with green, and they were boring into Justin's blue ones. Then his attractive face broke into a smile. He said one word, and Rufus knew exactly who the tall, dark and handsome stranger was.  
“Sunshine!” Justin didn't answer, he just mouthed a word. The stranger stepped forward, grinned, clapped Justin on the shoulder then hugged him. “I'm glad you're looking so well, when you stopped returning my calls I did worry about you.” Justin's eyes were still locked on the face in front of him.  
“Sorry,” he croaked.  
“No don't be,” the tall stranger smiled fondly, “I understand. You had to cut yourself free, grow up. It was a good thing for both of us.” He directed his attention towards Rufus.  
“Hi,” he said holding out a long, elegant hand, “I'm Brian Kinney, I don't know if Justin ever mentioned me.” Rufus took the hand unsurely and squeezed. Justin had never, ever mentioned Brian Kinney, the perfect male, but he had mentioned Brian Kinney the ex-boyfriend, the unfaithful, aging club boy who was unable to sustain a stable relationship, the drugged-up, boozey workaholic who lacked the courage to leave Pittsburgh and make his way in the big wide world, who would never get out of his provincial home town and who was losing his looks fast. Thís was the man who called Justin Sunshine. Only that part of it all made sense.   
“Sure,” Rufus answered, flustered, “pleased to meet you. I'm Rufus Wilder.”  
“The illustrator?” Brian beamed. “My son Gus loves the Doomed Earth books, your artwork is amazing.” Galloway, who had been silently watching thus far, sidled up to Brian and put a possessive arm around his waist.   
“I invited Rufus and Justin to dinner,” he said to Brian, stroking back a lock of chestnut hair from his lover's face, “I hope you're all right with that.”   
“Great,” Brian grinned, “I can bring you up to date with all the gossip from Pittsburgh, Sunshine!” Justin suddenly came to life.  
“Do you still live there?” he sneered. Brian frowned, a look of hurt passed through his eyes.  
“I go there regularly,” he answered softly, “I still have friends there. As do you.”  
“The loft?” Justin asked facetiously, “have you kept the loft?” Justin had told Rufus about the infamous loft.  
“We still have the loft,” Jon Galloway intervened in a sharp voice, apparently picking up on the antagonism between the two ex-lovers, “I think we should move on, Brian,” the artist said gently, tightening his grip on Brian's waist, and handing a card to Justin, “please give us a ring whenever it is convenient for you, it would be nice to arrange dinner. I have long wanted to meet the young man who Brian still speaks of so affectionately. He is a great admirer of your work, Mr Taylor.” Justin took the card meekly.   
“Thank you, we will certainly do that,” he answered, his good breeding kicking in at last, “it was a pleasure to see you so,” he paused, “happy, Brian.”  
“It was a pleasure to see you too,” Brian answered quietly, “great to meet you, Rufus, later Sunshine.” He turned and let himself be guided away by Galloway, who was talking to him in a low voice. Before Rufus looked away again he saw Brian smile at Galloway. It was a warm, happy smile. The smile of a man who has come home at last.

“Well, that went well,” Rufus said brightly, hoping to diffuse the situation.  
“I want to go,” Justin mumbled flatly, “I'm tired.”  
“Hey, but thanks to the evil ex we have an invitation to dinner,” Rufus tried to cheer Justin up.  
“We're not going,” Justin retorted, “and he isn't evil. He wasn't ever evil. He paid for my education. He did everything he could for me. But I just couldn't stay with him. I just wasn't strong enough for him. Perhaps Galloway is.”  
“Never mind.” Rufus slung an arm around Justin's shoulder, “we'll be on the flight home the day after tomorrow.”  
“Home,” Justin repeated, wondering why the word made him think of Brian.

**Author's Note:**

> I always found it hard to believe that a character like Brian, who had redefined himself so thoroughly before, would be incapable of doing so again. I also found it hard to imagine that there wouldn't come a point in his life where he would want a relationship of equals. This is just me telling that story.


End file.
